


Prize

by shadowsong26, TigerKat



Series: Serenissima [4]
Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: AU, Baroque Venice AU, Gen, Total AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 11:23:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4744475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsong26/pseuds/shadowsong26, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerKat/pseuds/TigerKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven-year-old Gaius Baltar first meets Father Ilario.</p>
<p>[Arc 0]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prize

Gaius knew, somewhere deep inside himself, that breaking into the priest's house was Wrong. It was very, _very_ wrong. In fact, it was one of the wrongest things one _could_ do, aside from actually hurting someone else. But he'd been going as often as he could for over a year now, and he hadn't gone to Hell yet, so he couldn't quite bring himself to care.

Besides. There were _books_ here.

Gaius stretched up as tall as he could, reaching for the blue book, the one he was currently working on puzzling out. Carefully, so carefully, he wriggled it down and then curled up on the floor, under the desk, to keep trying to make sense of it.

He'd been working at it for maybe an hour when he heard the door behind him softly click open. He froze and tried to hold his breath. _Maybe just dropping something off, maybe they'll go in just a second…_

No such luck.

Gaius shrank back as the hem of a cassock swung into his view on the other side of the desk, hugging the blue book to his chest, heart pounding.

The swinging cassock hem paused. "Just come out, whoever you are. Let's have this end pleasantly, shall we?"

_Eep._ Gaius hesitated for a minute, then crawled over and peeked out around the desk.

The priest was an old man, older than Mamma and Papa. He didn't look quite angry, but he didn't look quite happy, either. Gaius clung tighter to the blue book, waiting for the inevitable Lecturing to start.

The old man sighed. "You might as well give it back, son. You can't read it anyway."

That annoyed Gaius. "Can so!" he said, pulling back and clinging defensively to the book. The priest stared at him, and he flushed and dropped his eyes down at the floor. "I been practicing..."

The priest considered this for a long moment. "All right," he said, then turned and moved away. Confused, Gaius wriggled a little farther out from beneath the desk to see what the priest was doing.

The old man reached up to the higher of the two bookshelves--the one that Gaius wouldn't have been able to reach unless he'd climbed on top of the desk--and selected a small volume bound in red leather. He skimmed through the book and selected a page, then set it down in front of the boy. "Show me."

Gaius stared up at him for a minute, then down at the book. Tentatively, he set the blue book down and pulled the red one closer. He studied the open page for a while, then tentatively started to read out.

" _Q-quando...quanto più m'avvid--avvicino al g...al giorno estamo_  
Che l'un...l'unan...umano m...miserie suo far breve  
Più v....più veg..."*

"That'll do, son," the priest said. Gaius looked up, then blinked--the priest was smiling. "I think we should go have a talk with your parents, so you can see my books without having to sneak in. Would you like that?"

Gaius brightened and nodded rapidly, hugging the red book. The priest stood up and offered him a hand, which he accepted (even though he had to put the book down to do so). "My name is Father Ilario," the priest told him. "Why don't you show me the way?"

He was far too happy to answer in words, so he just nodded again and bounced out of the study--through the _door_ this time, even--pulling Father Ilario along behind to his home.

**Author's Note:**

> *Petrarch, Sonnet 32  
> QUANTO più m’ avvicino al giorno estremo  
> che l’ umana miseria suol far breve,  
> più veggio ’l tempo andar veloco e leve,  
> e ’l mio di lui sperar fallace e scemo.  
> I’ dico a’ miei pensier: “Non molto andremo  
> d’ amor parlando omai, che ’l duro e greve  
> terreno incarco, come fresce neve,  
> si va struggendo, onde noi pace avremo:  
> perchè co’ lui cadrà quella speranza,  
> che ne fe’ vaneggiar si lungamente,  
> e ’l riso e ’l pianto e la paura e l’ ira.  
> Si vedrem chiaro poi come sovente  
> per le cose dubbiose altri s’ avanza,  
> e come spesso indarno si sospira.”
> 
> Translation, courtesy of http://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/Italian/PetrarchCanzoniere001-061.htm#anchor_Toc9485217  
> The closer I come to that last day  
> that puts an end to human misery  
> the more swiftly and lightly I see time go by,  
> and my hopes of it deceive and fade.  
> I say in thought: ‘No time is left now  
> to speak of love, for this hard and heavy  
> earthly burden has begun to melt  
> like fresh snow: so we’ll find peace:  
> since with the body hope too will vanish,  
> that made us rave for so many years,  
> with laughter and tears, fear and anger:  
> for so we see how it often happens  
> that through uncertain things we advance,"  
> and often we sigh to no real purpose.’


End file.
